


Don't Say Goodbye

by Literal_Antique_Trash



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, M/M, but it works out in the end, ford is oblivious, stan leaves, trash can't do tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 21:58:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6395494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Literal_Antique_Trash/pseuds/Literal_Antique_Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe saying sorry would have saved them both the heartache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Say Goodbye

Stan leant against the register, looking at the shack with a fond, yet sad eye. Thirty years of work laid before him and memories jumped freely from his mind, replaying themselves right before his eyes.

Soos following a thirty year old Stan near the case filled with random rocks, his eyes wide and curious. The boy had been drowned in his uniform at the time, tucking it in his shorts and rolling the sleeves up to make it fit. A small screwdriver was clutched in his hand.  
Near the knick knacks was Wendy, who had nervously came in for an application. She fiddled with one of his bobble heads, flicking the head and grinning as it nodded back at her.

Dipper and Mabel looked around for their free gifts, looking at him from time to time in curiosity. Dipper grabbed a hat, putting it on his head with a smile and examining himself in the mirror, pleased with what he saw. And Mabel, the pumpkin, dug through the box of random items Stan had threw in a box years ago, pulling out a grappling hook of all things.  
Tourists wandered in and out of the shack, and Stan could hear the chipper laughs of women and children or the bored groans of teens. He saw himself at the vending machine, pushing in the code and disappearing to the basement. Or there, giving tours and acting as mysterious as possible. Or over there, flirting with an older lady and conning her into buying as much as he could sell her.

It was all so real for a second and Stan could feel the life that had once inhabited the place. Then reality kicked in and he was once again in an empty room, staring at the junk that had once been his life. Sighing, he stood, grumbling as something in his back protested at the movement.

Yeesh, he was getting old, he thought to himself while rubbing his back. Shaking his head with a small chuckle, he made his way from the business part of the shack to the living part, going up the stairs and into his room. He’d cleaned recently and it looked exactly like it had before he claimed it as his own. Stan like to think that Ford would like it.

Ford. Just thinking about Ford put a funny taste in his mouth. They’d gotten closer since everything… had happened over the summer, although it still made Stan wary. Yeah, they were getting along, but Stan couldn’t help but feel unwanted. His mind drifted to his brother’s request (read order) and let out a shaky sigh, scrubbing his eyes with an angry growl. He wouldn’t cry, not here. Stanford was just across the hall, getting the much needed rest he’d been skipping out on, choosing to work on the portal for the last few days. Stanford was already too close, in Stan’s opinion.

Walking over to his bed, Stan picked up the suitcase he had stuffed under it and blew over the top, cursing as dust flew in his face. Setting it down, he opened it and sighed. Time to get to work. Walking over to the closet, he opened it carefully and looked inside.

Stan didn’t have many clothes, he had nothing if he really thought about it. Plucking a couple of Hawaiian shirts from the rack, he threw them over his shoulder and onto the bed. Then he grabbed his pajamas, which just happened to be his old, well loved wife beater and a pair of ragged striped boxers. They got the same treatment, flying over his head and onto the bed. Moving on, Stan bit back a chuckle.

A red sweater stared back at him, small yellow fish sprinkling the top of it in three little rows. The small fish lined the bottom and sleeves of the garment also and Stan idly picked one up, feeling warm fleece under his fingers. It was perfect, he thought with a small, bittersweet smile. Imagine his surprise when Mabel had ran up to him, a beaming smile on her little face and a large sweater sitting in her arms. She had made the old man pinky swear to wear it the next time she saw him and Stan didn’t have the heart or the stomach to deny her, hooking his large pinky around her small one and sealing the deal. Then with one final kiss to the head, he’d sent her off to her bus, waving with one hand while the other clutched the gift to his chest.

Working his way out of his suit jacket, tie, and button up, he slipped the sweater over his head and down his front.  
‘It’s like a hug you can wear all day long Grunkle Stan!’ Mabel’s voice rang through his ear, still as chipper and excited as the day she left.

Shaking his head free from the memory, Stan absently pulled more clothing from the rack and walked over to the bed, setting them in a pile next to him. He quickly folded the items and organized them in the suitcase, humming quietly under his breath as he did so. Then when that was done, he stood again and looked around for anything he’d missed.

A stack of photos was spotted from the corner of his eye and he grabbed them, flicking through each one. The first was a picture of Soos when he was about thirteen, back when he’d actually liked his birthday and Stan was more of an inconsiderate ass. The boy was clutching a snow globe in his hands, looking to all the world like he’d been given the key to the universe. It was a shitty gift, he knows, but he didn’t have a lot of time to prepare. Wide, gleeful eyes stared up at him and a beaming smile graced the boys face, making Stan smile.  
Next came a picture of the Corduroy family, one that had been given to him by Manly Dan himself.

‘Good with the kids, they like you.’ He’d said, well more like roared, but it was the same thing with Manly Dan.

And Stan couldn’t deny it, he adored those kids. It still made him a little sad that they’d moved on from him, all but Wendy of course, but he understood. Boys will be boys.  
The picture happened to be from Halloween and the children were dressed up in the cutest costumes. Wendy stood out from the others, her little face unhappily staring back at him and making Stan hold back a laugh. He remembered that Halloween. The kids had dressed up like Jack and the Beanstalk. Little Brick, the oldest of the Corduroy children, had dressed up as Jack while Wendy was the beanstalk. Next came Danny, who had dressed as the Hen, two small golden eggs clasped in his arms. Then was he baby, Michael, who had been dressed like the little cow, sitting in the giant- Manly Dan’s- arms. All in all, it was one of the cutest things Stan had ever seen, and he had seen a baby deer once.

Next came a picture of the twins. This one had been taken on one of the quieter days in the shack, when they lazed around and watched terrible daytime television. Stan had been puttering around in the kitchen, making a snack for them and had walked out, freezing at what he saw. Dipper and Mabel had curled around each other in his chair, the worn blanket swallowing them completely until only there heads stuck out from the sea of fabric. The two had fallen asleep with their foreheads touching and matching sleepy smiles on their faces. It made Stan want to coo before he remembered who he was and chose to snap a photo of the two instead. No one would judge him if he cooed in private.

And lastly, was a picture of him and Ford. It was old and handled, but it was still good. They’d been about twelve at the time and their smiling, sunburned faces looked nothing but happy. It made Stan’s gut twist unpleasantly just looking at it because now, the whole thing just seemed wrong.

Setting the photos into the suitcase, he grabbed the fake I.D. from the night stand. He’d now be going under the name Stuart Higgins, a seventy year old man from North Dakota.  
Pocketing the card, he closed the case and picked it up, walking out of the room.

Stan hesitated when passing Stanford’s door, debating on whether or not he should say goodbye. But it would seem that his soft heart won and he carefully opened the door, wincing when it creaked loudly.  
Peeking his head in, a soft smile graced his features. Stanford lay on his side, body tangled in the large, warm blanket covering him, dead to the world with a small smile on his face. Stan noticed that Stanford had left his glasses on, as they were screened awkwardly on his face. It made Stan’s chest warm with affection, the picture reminding him of a long time ago.

Setting his bag down, he tried to walk quickly and quietly over to the other, swearing when he nearly tripped over one of Ford’s journals. Snatching it up from the floor, he set it on the nightstand and glanced at Stanford, giving him a strange look when he noticed that he was still sleeping, oblivious to Stan’s struggling. Grumbling under his breath about sleeping jerks, he slid the glasses from Stanford’s face and folded them, putting them on the nightstand. Stan then fixed Stanford into a more comfortable position and tucking him in, softening considerably when Stanford let out a small sigh and snuggled into his pillow with an unintelligible mumble.

Smoothing his hand down Stanford’s head, he bent down and gave his older brother a kiss on the forehead before straightening and leaving the room, his belongings in hand.  
The walk from the shack to his car seemed like the longest walk of his life. Opening his door, Stan threw the case on the passenger’s seat and collapsed into the driver’s seat. Taking a deep breath, he started the car and drove away.

(Later)

When Stanford awoke the next morning, he could tell that something was off. Firstly, his glasses were not on his face and rather, were sitting on top of the journal he knew had been on the floor yesterday. Secondly, he couldn’t remember having a nightmare.

Getting up from bed, Stanford put on his glasses and padded out of the room. The shack was eerily quiet, abnormally so for a Saturday morning. Usually the sound of terrible daytime television and Stan’s growling voice answering the television angrily filled the empty space of the shack. Walking into the kitchen, he frowned at the emptiness of the room.

“Stan?” He called out, walking around the house looking for his brother.

When no answer came from Stanley, Stanford huffed. Well if Stanley was going to be childish and not answer him, he would go up to Stanley’s room and get him. Strolling up the stairs, he grinned mischievously, opening the door. Imagine his surprise when he finds the room cleaned and empty, like no one’s ever lived in it.

“Stanley? Stan, this isn’t funny, come out.” Stanford says angrily, though fear ran through his heart at that moment.

Where the hell was Stanley?

Shaking his head, Stanford decided to check inside the gift shop for his brother. Padding into the room, he swallowed as he saw that no one was in the shack except him. Anxiety started to take hold of Stanford and he backed away and into the living room, sitting on Stan’s chair and taking a shaky breath.  
Had Stanley left him? And if he did, why? Stanford couldn’t remember fighting with Stan since…

After he’d kicked Stan out. Stanford had forgotten about it of course, but he had kicked Stanley out of the shack. It hadn’t been the first time that Stanford had threatened to throw Stanley out on his ass after he’d returned. It had merely been in good fun, or what Stanford perceived to be good fun. Stanley had always laughed along and Stanford was none the wiser to the fact that Stanley thought he was serious.

Thoughts and scenarios ran through Stanford’s mind at a mile a minute, each one getting worse and worse as time passed by. Stanley was not a young man any more, he wouldn’t survive out on the streets again. It wasn’t that Stanford thought Stanley couldn’t take care of himself, he knew that Stanley could take care of himself.  
Maybe he was just being paranoid. What if Stanley just went to the store? What if he was panicking for nothing and Sta would walk into the shack at any minute. He just needed to wait.

When the sun started to set, Stanford realized that Stan had left him and his heart dropped to his stomach. Trying to steady his shaking hands, Stanford picking up the phone and dialing Stan’s boy. Soos his name was, Stanford thought while clutching the phone tightly in his hand.

“Hello? Is everything alright, Mr.Pines?” Soos’ chipper voice answered, sing song in its nature.

Stanford swallowed around the lump in his throat, letting out an admittedly cringe worthy noise akin to a whine.

“Mr.Pines? Are you okay? It’s not your back again, is it?”

The concern in the young man’s voice was heart warming and Stanford made the mental not to thank him as soon as possible.

“Uh, no. This is Stanford, Stanley’s brother. You haven’t seen him today, have you?” There straight to the point, Stanford though with approval.

“Nope, haven’t seen him all day, Other Mr.Pines.”

Stanford frowned at the quick, nervous answer and sighed.

“Now Soos,” He stared, his voice taking on the tone of a strict parent. “If you know anything about Stanley’s disappearance, I need to know, and I need to know now.”

A few moments of silence followed before Soos answered him, his quiet with sadness.

“Yeah, dude. He told me he was leaving and that he would call me when he got somewhere to sleep.”

Stanford let out a shaky sigh, rubbing his eyes roughly to clear any traces of the tears that had gathered in his eyes. So Stan had left and it was all Stanford’s fault.

“I’m sorry Mr.Pines- oh hold on… It’s Stan! I’ll call you back, Mr.Pines!”

Stanford nodded as the line went dead, taking the phone and walking into his bedroom. He started to dress, putting on his coat and boots, the only thought running through his mind being ‘Go get him back.’ He nearly fell over when the phone rang, shaking him from his thoughts and he took the call.

“Hello?”

“Mr.Pines, Mr.Pines! I know where he is!” Soos eagerly cheered, making Stanford wince at the volume and the elderly, chastising voice that followed to quiet the young man.

“Where is he?” Stanford hissed, unintentionally sounding like a crazed man.

A small gulp came from the other end of the line.

“He’s at the Sleepy Deer, a motel at the edge of town.”

Sleepy Deer? Stanford let out a relieved sigh, relaxing minutely.

“Thank you Soos.”

“No problem, just promise you’ll bring him back?”

The young man sounded like he’d been abandoned by a parent, so lost and sad that it added fuel to the fire in Stanford’s mind. Letting out a grunt, Stanford hung up the phone. It would be a long walk.

(Elsewhere)

Stanley stared up at the ceiling in distaste, taking in the tacky, leaf patterned wallpaper while rain pattered against the window. It was one of the things that Stan hoped he would never have to see again. After so many years of switching between a cramped backseat of an El Diablo or a dirty, infested motel mattress, one gets tired of seeing tacky wallpapers.  
Stan sat up, taking off his glasses and resting back against the headboard, grumbling at the stone pillows the bed provided. He hadn’t gotten far, Stan realized, turning red from both anger and shame that directed at himself.

He was supposed to be long  
gone and out of Stanford’s way, living the life of a shady drifter once more until he died in the backseat of his car. Or at least that’s what Stan imagined the rest of his life would be. But it seemed that he couldn’t even do that tight because here he was, still clinging onto the hope that he could go back to the shack and beg for forgiveness.

So imagine his surprise when the door was kicked open and a soaking, frantic Stanford charged into the room and pounced on him, punching him in the face. Stan let out a yelp at the blow, hard enough to startle him, though soft enough to where he wouldn’t be hurt.

“Ow Stanford, what the hell?” Stan cried, looking up at Stanford with confusion and concern.

A laugh bubbled out from his twin until Stanford was cackling.

“Ford, why are you laughing?”  
His answer was a loud sob.

“Why are you crying? Sixer?”

Stanford just buried his face into Stan’s chest, clinging onto him as the shakes overtook him.

Stan immediately wrapped his arms around Ford, shushing him while rocking from side to side. He ignored the unpleasant feeling of his clothing slowly growing wet, cradling Stanford in his arms.

“You left.”

Stan winced at the desolate tone, having never heard Stanford sound that upset before. It made something in Stan’s heart clench and he found himself apologizing before he could even thing of response.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered lowly, ignoring the dull roar of the television in front of them.  
Stanford shook his head, pushing back so he could look at Stan with wide, earnest eyes.

“This isn’t your fault Stan, it’s mine and I’m admitting it now. I know you didn’t mean to break my project and I was too stubborn and angry to realize.”

He held up a hand when Stan opened his mouth, continuing as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

“I’ve come to terms with my mistakes and I want to move past this, with you, not fighting you. I just want you to come home.”

Stan could only gape at his twin, the words he’d wanted to hear for years ringing through him like the chime of a mighty bell. His brain was short circuting or his hearing aid had finally went out, because this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be, he just wasn’t that lucky.

“Stanley?”

The hand on his face made him blink, looking at his older brother with confused eyes. Stanford smiled softly at the other, allowing affection and warmth fill his chest for the first time in a long time. Patting Stan’s cheek, he scrambled out of the man’s lap and held his hand out.

“Let’s go?”

A small smile bloomed on Stan’s face and he took the offered hand, grabbing his bag. They were going home.

The End

Bonus:  
A sneeze drifted from Stanford’s bedroom, making Stan sigh as he carried in a tray with soup and orange juice.

“How you doing, Ford?”

“Terrible.” He croaked lowly, sneezing once more, this one more like a kitten’s than a man’s.

Stan cooed and Stanford glared at him.

“I hate you.”

“I love you too, Sixer.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Check out my tumblr for more!


End file.
